


State of the Colonies

by So_Caffeinated (so_caffeinated)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Apocalypse, Gen, Slice of Life, boom - Freeform, man that would be frustrating, set during mini-series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:39:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_caffeinated/pseuds/So_Caffeinated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adar was a capable leader: decisive, strategic, persuasive and empathic. But the thing of it is, even the best leader in all the worlds is useless when there is no one left to follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	State of the Colonies

 

 

"All right now, everyone give me a winning smile!"

With the practiced ease of a life-long politician, President Adar gave a plastic, toothy grin alongside this year’s high school Colonial Triad champions.

"All right, ladies. Thank President Adar for his time and we’ll leave him to matters of state," the coach ordered as a camera’s flash lit up the President’s office.

Fake smile still firmly in place, President Adar shook hands with the dozen young women to a chorus of thank you.

"Mister president, if you have a few moments I’d like to go over tonight’s State of the Colonies address," said an aide as the triad team made their way from the presidential office.

"Of course, we’re almost twenty minutes ahead of schedule. I’ve got some time before I’m meeting with Aerilon’s governor," he replied, gesturing for the aide to take a seat.

"Sir, the State of the Colonies speech needs to address the issue of tyllium mining on Sagittarion," she began.

He sighed heavily. "I don’t want to talk about tyllium or Sagittarion for that matter," he replied gruffly with the distinct impression that this conversation would take far longer than his carefully allocated schedule would allow.

"With respect, sir, your approval rating sinks dramatically when we account for opinions on tyllium mining. It would be a mistake not to address it at all," she replied with a determination that only Adar’s most seasoned advisors found the courage to display.

"I know you’re right, Diana," he assured her, glancing briefly at the clock on his wall. Thirteen minutes to spare. "But I refuse to allow my presidency to be defined by tyllium mining."

She was about to reply when eight Marines and the president’s chief military advisor, a retired general, burst through the doors unexpectedly.

"Mister president, we have a situation," the general informed him, her voice shaking with uncharacteristic nervousness.

"What’s going on?" he asked.

"Sir, we need to move you to a secure location, immediately," a nameless marine announced.

"I have a meeting with Governor Markson in twelve minutes," he replied, as though perhaps the fate of the colonies relied on his meticulously crafted schedule.

"Jim, it’s the Cylons," the General informed him.

"My Gods, Andrea. You can’t be serious," he breathed, suddenly struck with the realization that his presidency would definitely not be defined by tyllium or Sagittarion.

"Mister president, you must follow us now or we will remove you with force," a Marine informed him.

"Yes, yes of course," he replied grabbing his coat and briefcase as though it were a normal action for a normal day. As though perhaps he were still headed to his meeting with Governor Markson.

"We have the client. Moving to location Charlie Echo 2-6-4," said one of the marines speaking into the microphone on his headset.

"My wife? My daughters?" Adar asked following the agents at a decent clip. "Bethany was on her way back to school today."

"We are diverting your younger daughter’s transport vessel to a secure facility on Aerilon. She should arrive there within the hour. The first lady is already secure. Your older daughter has been pulled from class and is en route to a bunker on Picon," one of the officers told him.

Adar shook his head.

 _"Manage the crisis now, Jim. Worry about the outcome later,"_ he told himself.

"What’s happened, Andrea."

"Our emissary to the Cylons failed to return from his contact mission. At first we assumed he’d had mechanical problems. The Battlestar Xanthus was sent to investigate and assist if necessary," the general replied, hesitating before she continued.

"Go on," he prodded.

"We received only one communication from her. The Cylons had destroyed the outpost and the Xanthus was reporting taking heavy fire when she ceased transmitting. Shortly thereafter, a passenger vessel traveling nearby got off an SOS and reported encountering substantial debris before its transmission stopped as well," the general said, her voice steadier than Adar expected his own would have been in relaying such information.

"When did this happen?" he asked, glancing at his watch out of pure habit.

"Our last communication from the Xanthus was thirty minutes ago. The last communication from the passenger vessel was about fifteen minutes ago, sir," she replied.

"My Gods," said Diana breathlessly, startling Adar who had forgotten his aide’s presence. "How can this be happening?"

"How many souls aboard the Xanthus?" Adar asked.

"Two thousand, three hundred and forty seven, sir," the general replied. "But, I’m sorry to say that I don’t believe that’s the worst of it. Several Cylon ships have showed up on long-range Dradis aboard the Atlantia, the Hesperides, and the Prometheus. It appears as though they are headed toward the colonies, sir."

"Which colonies?" he asked.

"All of them, sir" she replied.

They rushed out the doors, headed purposefully toward the long-term emergency bunker. A deceptively delicate breeze rolled through Caprica City giving the erroneous impression that today was no different than yesterday, no different than tomorrow. It seemed odd to him, somehow, that the sun should choose to shine as though, perhaps, it was clueless as to the day’s events.

Unlike the calm before a storm or surreptitiously quiet moments before an earthquake or a hurricane - birds continued to sing, squirrels scurried through the trees. If he were to have been afforded the luxury of hindsight in the coming days, it would have later occurred to Adar that it was only natural disasters for which animals seemed to have a supernatural sense. And, there was nothing natural about the Cylons.

"Where is the Vice President?" Adar asked.

"He’s already been secured in the bunker we’re headed to, sir," replied one of his marines.

"Get me a connection to him," Adar ordered.

After a moment, one of the marines handed him a headset.

"He’s on the frequency, sir."

"Tom, what do you hear?" Adar asked him.

"When it rains, it pours, Jim," came a dour reply. "We’ve lost the Hesperides and the Prometheus is taking heavy losses as we speak. We haven’t had any noticeable effect on their ships. They’re just shutting us down. The Hesperides reported that she lost control of her navigational and weapons systems just before we lost her. Now, the Prometheus is reporting its Vipers simultaneously lost power."

"What is Admiral Nagala’s plan?" Adar asked.

"He’s set up a line of defense in sector C-26, which is where it looks like the bulk of enemy fighters are headed, but we’re falling hard and we’re falling fast. He’s called up the reserves on all of the colonies in case we’re invaded but at this rate our soldiers won’t even have reported to their bases yet by the time the Cylons get here. Jim, Picon’s defense systems are showing several basestars entering their space. They’ll be in orbit in ten minutes."

"How in Hades did this happen?" Adar demanded. "Will our defense grids hold them off?"

"Frankly, I don’t see how they can," the Vice President responded. "The grid was designed as a stopgap measure to hold off attackers until the fleet arrived. At this rate, we won’t have a fleet to respond. These aren’t the Cylons we fought, Jim. These are something else entirely. We didn’t plan for this. We planned for a war like the last one and they anticipated our level of preparedness. The out-thought us, Jim."

 _"Cylons compute; they don’t think,"_ Adar found himself about to say, but held his tongue. After today, who was he to presume he knew anything about the Cylons?

In the distance, Adar could hear a school bell ring and the noises of everyday traffic. Forty-five billion people across twelve colonies were picking up their dry-cleaning, defrosting meat for dinner, working on board meeting presentations, and picking their kids up from school. Forty-five billion people were going about their daily routine without the slightest clue that in a short time none of it would matter.

It occurred to him briefly as he plunged into the darkness of the underground bunker, that excessively dry, sunny days like today would likely lead to an above average fire season. It didn’t occur to him that there very shortly wouldn’t be anyone left to care.

"Status," demanded Adar, hanging his coat neatly on the coat rack as the hatch to the outside world was sealed with resounding finality.

"We’ve lost the defense grid, Jim," said the Vice President in a hushed tone, his hand running through his thinning hair.

"What?"

"It’s failed. And we’ve lost contact with defense headquarters."

"Then get me Admiral Nagala," commanded Adar.

"The communication satellites have been systematically eliminated. All communications had been routed through defense headquarters through backup channels. We’ve lost," the Vice President replied.

Adar was a capable leader: decisive, strategic, persuasive and empathic. But the thing of it is, even the best leader in all the worlds is useless when there is no one left to follow.

"We can’t just sit here and wait to die, find a way to get me the admiral or defense headquarters," Adar demanded gruffly, his ire directed at an unlucky Marine.

"Sir, yes sir!" replied the Marine who quickly went to work at his futile task.

It was then that he heard a hushed voice from the corner of the room, desperate and oddly mechanical.

"Elisa? Honey, are you okay?" He asked quietly making his way over to the stoic figure and taking her hand in his. Her mumbling ceased momentarily and she looked up at him with glassy eyes.

"The Gods will save us," she told him forcefully. "We have been faithful to them and Zeus will strike down the heathens in our midst."

Unlike his wife, privately Adar had always questioned the Gods’ existences. He was a pragmatic man. Dealt in the tangible: reason and logic, not mysticism and faith. But now, Adar recalled the scriptures that he’d memorized because his pollsters told him to – the near-destruction of their race and the ominous promise that it would all happen again.

His devout wife sat huddled in the corner of the shelter, barely noticeable in the shadows, rocking back and forth purposefully. Meticulously laying out her idols in prostration as though, perhaps, that alone might save them.

"Hera save your wayward children," she mumbled. "Aries, lend us your strength oh mighty God of War. Apollo heal our wounded soldiers and families. This I beg of you, oh gracious Lords of Kobol. So say we all. Hear me! Hear your devoted servant…."

With guttural tremors of the attacks above them echoing through the shelter and his wife’s pious litany, for the first time Adar truly believed the Gods existed. And, despite his wife’s adamant prayers to the contrary, he was sure that they were already listening.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written 2005


End file.
